The almost rhythmic thud and slap greeted FBI Assistant Director in Charge Jesus Hernandez as he walked through the door, alerting him to where he would find his lover, Michaela.
He laid his briefcase by the serviceable table in the entryway and placed his keys in the pink and white ceramic bowl one of his nieces had made for him. Shrugging out of his wool overcoat, he hung it on the coat rack and pulled at his tie to loosen it as he sauntered to his office, which doubled as a gym. The apartment was too small to have two separate areas, so his business and personal lives had to share some space.
Not very different from the realities of the rest of his life, where personal and career lives had gotten tangled in a Gordian knot that seemed to pull ever tighter around him every day.
He paused at the door while Michaela pounded the punching bag in the corner, her actions hesitant. She flinched a little as she struck the bag, followed by a powerful shudder through her body. She stopped to still the swinging of the bag, and turned to face him.
“You know it's impossible for your big hulking self to sneak up on me,” she said, hands on her hips and legs braced slightly apart.
He smiled and sauntered over, and laid his hands at her waist as he bent to brush a kiss along her temple. “I wasn't trying to sneak,” he replied, feeling big next to her petite, but deliciously curvy, body.
She grunted and playfully jabbed him in the ribs before shifting away. Pulling off her lightweight gloves, she shot him a teasing smile and said, “You're late. I hope dinner isn't ruined.”
Jesus sniffed the air and detected the aroma of French fries. Grinning, he followed her to the kitchen. Michaela had already set the table and as she went to the oven to get their dinner, he draped his tie and suit jacket on one of the chairs and pulled a beer out of the fridge. Waving the bottle in the air, he asked, “Would you like one?”
“No, thanks. A soda will do,” she replied as expected. His lover had a major sweet tooth and soda was tops on the list. It always made him wonder how she stayed fit, but then again, a half-human/half-vampire metabolism was bound to have some perks.
As he placed the soda on the table, she laid out the fries and burgers she had ordered.
“I see you slaved all day,” he teased, but instead of her usual deprecating comeback, she stiffened, and set her hands back on her hips.
“I never promised to be Suzy Homemaker,” she shot back, the words as sharp as one of her punches.
“Hey, I know. I was just kidding. I'm no Ward Cleaver myself,” he replied, which earned a puzzled look from her. “As in Leave It to Beaver?” Or had their age difference of a decade struck again?
Her eyes rolled. “Right. I've watched TV Land.” She relaxed, but only slightly.
Which made him wonder what had gotten her hackles up today. Though he could guess. The Slayer Council.
It had been nearly two months since the Council had lost two of their members at the hands of a homicidal rogue Slayer. Two months since Michaela had almost been killed by the same lunatic. She still hadn't completely recovered physically, but Jesus suspected the psychological wounds would take even longer to heal. Thankfully, he was there to help.
If she would let him. One thing he'd learned about Michaela in the many months they'd lived together, she didn't like to share personal stuff. It made communication hard at times, especially when he had things he wanted to get off his own chest. Like tonight.
As he grabbed his burger, he said, “I stopped by the hospital to see Diana before I came home. It's why I'm a little late.”
Michaela stopped short, burger in mid-air, her concern apparent. “I thought she'd be home by now.”
Jesus shrugged, took a bite of his sandwich, and chewed it thoughtfully before continuing. “The bleeding caused by her fall during the werewolf attack has stopped, but her doctor wanted to run another test on the baby, so she had to stay in the hospital for a few extra days.”
Michaela snatched a French fry from her plate and circled it around and around in the ketchup, avoiding his gaze as she asked, “Is the baby okay?”
“They're not sure.”
She stilled. “Why aren't they sure?”
Although it was bound to upset her, she had to know. Diana and Ryder might need her help. “The vampire cells in her blood have contaminated the baby.”
Michaela dropped what was left of her burger and met his gaze straight on, her cerulean blue gaze turning cold as ice. “You know what that means, J.”
“Maybe. But I'd appreciate your take on it.”
She pushed away from the table and rose, her anxious strides carrying her back and forth across the tiny space of his kitchen the way a caged animal might look for escape.
Did she think of his apartment like that? As a prison? He knew she had rarely stayed in one place for too long as an adult. She'd had few friends and even fewer lovers. The place he considered a safe, cozy home might well challenge her sense of freedom.
“Michaela. Talk to me,” he pressed. She whirled and came back to the table. Gripping the top rung of the chair back, she said in almost pleading tones, “You know what I am.”
“A dhampir,” he responded without question or judgment, well aware of her uniqueness.
She nodded. “That's part of it. But I'm also a Slayer. I'm supposed to kill vampires who turn humans. It's my job. My obligation.”
She didn't need to connect the dots for him to see where she was going. He grimaced. “And to save the baby, Ryder will have to—”
“Turn Diana before it's born. It's the only way to save them, and even then, it's incredibly risky.” She dragged a shaky hand through the choppy layers of her short brown hair and looked away from him, her gaze shimmering with tears.
He came to stand beside her. She was stiff in his arms as he wrapped them around her waist, wanting to offer her comfort, but also needing it himself. Diana was not just a work colleague, she was a good friend. One of the best he had. The thought of her dying...
He hugged Michaela hard, and laid his forehead against the dark strands of her hair.
As if finally realizing how upset he was, she turned and reached up to cradle his head in her hands. “I'm sorry I haven't been a better friend to them. I just haven't been able to face that the only way for Diana to live is—”
“For her to die and become a vampire.”
She nodded. “By all I'm sworn to do, I should sanction Ryder when it happens.”
“Can it really be so black and white for you? Especially when the Council would be more than happy to see you dead yourself?”
Slayers were human, among the very few mortals who knew about the demons and shifters living amongst them. It was an exclusive and fanatically intolerant club whose sole purpose was to eliminate vampires from the Earth. It demanded severe—sometimes fatal—training to join, and zealous loyalty to their rules to stay a member...and remain alive. Punishment for pretty much any violation was death.
Michaela was an abomination to them, half-vampire/half human, and yet she had played by their rules and bested them in order to become a Slayer. He knew what had driven her—vengeance for her mother's rape and death at the hands of Michaela's vampire father. But in his view, what the Council asked of her had nothing to do with justice.
“Not all of the Council elders want me dead,” she reminded him and leaned her head against his chest.
Jesus felt a brief stab of jealousy. Her former lover, one of the Council, had been killed during the recent murder case they'd both been involved in, the same case where Michaela had been nearly fatally injured. “Benjamin was your ally, but he was more than that, wasn't he? I saw it in your eyes as he lay dying in your arms.”
She pushed away, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. “You know you weren't my first, J. I don't have to explain my past to you.”
As she went to clear the remains of their meal from the kitchen table, her motions brusque with anger, he took hold of her hand. With his size, he could easily bruise or hurt her, so he kept his touch gentle and controlled. He never wanted her to be afraid in his arms.
“Please, J. Let's not go there,” she pleaded, but he refused to release her or the conversation.
“I know you've had other relationships. I don't care about them. I care about us. Where this is going.”
She refused to look at him. “I'm not one to think about the future, J. I don't know where this is going. All I know is I want to be with you. I care about you, and that's not an easy thing for me to admit.”
No, it wasn't, Jesus knew. But just as there was a big difference between vengeance and justice, there was a long way to go between caring and loving. Would she ever jump across that vast divide to really and truly commit to him?
Cupping her cheek, he tilted her face to meet his gaze. “It's been a long day. I was going to bed early. Care to join me?”
Her hesitation spoke louder than the words that followed it. “I need a little space right now. I'm just going to take a walk.”
If you love something, set it free.
It was a mantra he was learning to live with. But he didn't like it.
With a slow nod, he said, “I'll be waiting.”